


prince charming

by cybergore



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Friends to Lovers, Guard!Andrew, M/M, Making Out, Pining, Prince!Neil, Slow Burn, but not much more than that, mild references abuse & rape, mildly depicted mental health issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybergore/pseuds/cybergore
Summary: A kingdom needs an heir, and the late Nathan Wesninski’s son, Nathaniel, is exactly that. And there are certain rules and standards an heir is required to live up to, and certain rules he must abide.For instance, no senseless brawling with the palace guard.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 31
Kudos: 197





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> can i interest anyone in an andreil kingdom au? no? well ANYWAY.
> 
> (i’m not betaed, so any mistakes or inconsistencies are my dumb self’s fault!)

When Prince Nathaniel Wesninski was nine years old, his preferred hobby was frolicking in the outdoors with the lovely flora and fauna the palace grounds provided.

He especially liked wandering the lush palace gardens, filled with breathtaking flowers and other such greenery. Nathaniel would walk the gardens for hours, smiling in delight when a flower he did not know caught his eye.

When Nathaniel was forbidden from leaving his chambers, as he frequently was (Nathan Wesninski was not a nature-oriented man), he would take to scouring books about botany, poring over their gorgeously illustrated pages. Nathaniel learned the name of each and every flower and plant on the palace grounds.

It was something he cared deeply about, and he thought it a rather charming hobby for a young prince to have. (Though his father certainly  _ did not. _ )

One afternoon, when nine-year-old Nathaniel was enjoying a skip around the garden, something caught his eye—a smudge of black among the bright colors of the flora.

After distracting the head of his personal guard, a chap named Wymack, Nathaniel sought to investigate the flashes of darkness he kept seeing among the flowers.

He found the mysterious figure in a small, secluded clearing, just off of the main path. It was crowded with lovely hydrangeas, and Nathaniel made a mental note to pick one later and press it into the pages of his journal.

Nathaniel crept up on the figure and tapped him on the shoulder— _ him _ being a boy, dressed all in black, who must’ve been a bit older than Nathaniel himself.

“Boo,” Nathaniel whispered in the boy’s ear, and delighted when he jumped.

The stranger, however, did not seem to be quite so tickled pink. “Get away from me,” he snarled, leaping back from Nathaniel, who had been standing in his personal space.

“Oh,” Nathaniel said, stepping back the appropriate amount. “I’m sorry if I started you. Who are you?”

“Don’t mind that,” the boy frowned. He seemed to do that a lot. “You’re Prince Nathaniel.”

“Yes,” Nathaniel agreed, since he was. “But I asked you first. Who’re you?”

“Andrew,” the boy replied, giving Nathaniel an assessing glance. “Why are you out all alone? I thought princes weren’t allowed to be left unattended.”

“I’m not unattended, or all alone,” Nathaniel replied. “I’m with you, aren’t I?”

“I don’t count,” Andrew said, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not a guard, or a knight.”

“I suppose,” Nathaniel conceded. “But, wait, if you’re not a guard or knight, what are you doing on palace grounds?”

“Oh,” Andrew said, blanching ever so slightly. “Um, I have permission to be here.”

“Permission? Permission from whom?” asked Nathaniel, curious rather than attacking.

“Sir Wymack,” Andrew replied, suddenly sure of himself, placing his hands on his hips.

“Really.” Nathaniel pondered this. “Wymack is the head of my guard. He’s here, too.”

“Oh, you don’t say,” Andrew said, seemingly nonchalant. But Nathaniel noticed that the timbre of his voice had gone up the slightest bit, and now his eyes were darting around the small clearing nervously.

“Not  _ here, _ immediately here,” Nathaniel amended. “He’s a while away. I distracted him so I could investigate.”

Andrew snorted in a way that Nathaniel’s father would call ‘unprincely.’ “Investigate what, exactly?”

“ _ You, _ of course,” Nathaniel replied. “You’re rather suspicious, you know. A boy, dressed in all black, sneaking around the palace gardens. You could be dangerous.”

“I  _ am _ dangerous,” Andrew informed Nathaniel, puffing up his chest. “I’m quite good at combat, you know. I’ve gotten lessons at it from Wymack.”

“Sir Wymack taught you, really?” Nathaniel asked, eyes growing wide. “I’ve been begging him for lessons, but he says that it’s not princely, and my father wouldn’t approve.”

At the mention of King Nathan, Andrew frowned once more. Nathaniel hadn’t even noticed that the expression had disappeared just prior.

“Well, he’s probably right,” Andrew said. “Also, you’re a bit young for combat.”

“Young? Who are you calling  _ young? _ ” Nathaniel asked, looking ruffled. He was most certainly  _ not _ too young for combat. And this Andrew couldn’t be much older than himself, could he? He was taller than Nathaniel, but only a  _ bit. _

“You, of course,” Andrew said. “You’re just nine years old.”

“Nine years old is quite a lot, I’ll have you know,” Nathaniel sneered. “And you can’t be  _ that _ much older. How old are  _ you? _ ”

“Eleven,” Andrew responded, looking smug as he did so.

Nathaniel wrinkled his nose in sore defeat. “Well, that’s not much. Only two years.”

“Whatever you say, Prince Nathaniel,” Andrew shrugged.

“Oh, you needn’t say the ‘prince’ part,” Nathaniel said. “I don’t like it much. It’s too stuffy. Just Nathaniel is fine.”

“Alright,” Andrew said. “Just Nathaniel it is.”

At that moment, Sir Wymack burst through a patch of hydrangeas, his expression panicked. “Prince Nathaniel, there you are!”

“Yes,” Nathaniel nodded.

“You mustn’t run off like that,” Wymack said, glaring at the young prince in distress. “I was worried sick. I thought you’d been snatched from right under my nose.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Wymack,” Nathaniel apologized, though he hardly looked sincere. “I was just talking to Andrew, here.”

At that, Wymack finally seemed to notice Andrew’s presence in the conversation. He turned to Andrew, who was standing at Nathaniel’s side, looking like a mouse in a trap.

“Andrew Minyard,” Wymack said, his expression morphing into displeased exhaustion. “What in the lord’s bloody name are you doing here?”

Nathaniel looked at Andrew, his surprise evident on his features. “I’d been lead to believe Andrew had your permission to be here, Wymack,” Nathaniel said.

“He most certainly did not,” Wymack frowned. “Hurry on home, Andrew, or I’ll not hear the end of this. And don’t you bother the young prince, here.”

“Dearest apologies, sir,” Andrew said, a smug smile stretching over his features. The humor in the situation was written all over his face, though Nathaniel surely couldn’t sense it. “I’ll be taking my leave, your majesty.”

Andrew ended the encounter with a sweeping bow to Nathaniel, who found it strange enough after their conversation, and blushed. As Wymack turned his back to Andrew, however, the boy flashed Nathaniel a wink and a wave.

Nathaniel grinned back at him.

As the pair of them walked back to the palace, Nathaniel tuned out Wymack’s lecture. His mind was swimming, replaying his conversation with Andrew. After the meeting, one thing was clear to Nathaniel: he liked Andrew Minyard, and he wanted to talk to him again.


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part two of the ‘prince charming’ series, baby! this part takes place four years after the last. nathaniel is thirteen here, and andrew is fifteen.
> 
> trigger warnings include: referenced child abuse, mentions of knife violence (though not depicted), alcohol, mentions of r/pe and ptsd, talk of consent, talk of arranged marriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gang my name is jesper and i have like two brain cells and negative one betas, which means that im dumb & no one reads my work except me before i publish it. therefore, i apologize for any inconsistencies, mistakes, etc., in advance!t

The marks on Nathaniel’s chest burned with as much fervor as they did when they first appeared there hours ago. The result of Nathan’s frequent anger, they were a stark and burning red against Nathaniel’s pale skin.

Nathaniel knew he should apply ointment to them—that would be the responsible thing to do—but he also knew it will irritate them more, at least for a while, and he was not ready for that yet.

Slumping against his lavishly clothed bed, Nathaniel shut his eyes against the rush of pain that jostling even the slightest bit seems to prompt. He just wanted to rest, to sleep, to rid his mind of the worries that haunted it.

The image of King Nathan lashing Nathaniel’s chest with a strip of leather was seared into the latter’s eyelids, however, even when he tried to block out the world.

Exhaustion crowded in on Nathaniel when he set his head down, but so did the threat of nightmares. It was a gamble whether or not Nathaniel would be able to manage a peaceful few hours of sleep before his father crept into his subconscious to torment him even there.

Nevertheless, it was too difficult for the young prince to manage even staying awake. He hadn’t slept a full night’s sleep for over two months, and it felt like even longer. These days, Nathaniel’s eyelids seemed to be weighted down with stones.

Surrendering to sleep, Nathaniel allowed himself to be pulled under. Just a few hours… that ought to make sitting through meetings with the Court more bearable.

Nathaniel promised himself:  _ no nightmares. _

⋆

There were nightmares.

Bad ones.

Which was saying quite a lot, given that most of Neil’s nightmares were rather horrific.

Those nightmares, on that night, specifically, featured much of King Nathan Wesninski’s most trusted advisor, Madam Lola Malcolm. In Nathaniel’s dream-scape, Lola’s knife-sharp grin was ever-present and wholly threatening.

She stood above a pitifully cowering Nathaniel, held down on his bed, and wielded a red-hot knife, plucked straight from the embers of a fire out of Nathaniel’s view.

“Oh, Nathaniel,” Lola grinned, her voice low and menacing, while simultaneously amused. “The Court has never had a prince as pathetic as you before.”

She tightened her grip on the knife, pulled up Nathaniel’s shirt, and dug in.

Alternately, Nathaniel’s subconscious was haunted by dreams of people who he knew. Those tended to be even worse than the dreams that featured Madam Lola, or Lord Romero, or even King Nathan himself.

There was nothing Nathaniel despised more than being sliced up repeatedly by a malevolent dream-version of the brave, galant Sir Matt Boyd, or a devious perversion of Danielle Wilds, a vivacious knight-in-training.

Nevertheless, his subconscious seemed to enjoy those instances, and doused Nathaniel’s sleep with scenes in which his loyal friends and servants chopped and hacked at his skin.

Nathaniel woke up from a particularly bad dream-scenario, involving one of his closest friends, Duke Kevin Day, and a particularly dull and rusty blade, gasping.

Nathaniel felt bile rise in his throat, and he clutched around his bed, desperate for something to grab onto. Finally fisting his hands in his silken bedclothes, Nathaniel tried his best to breathe and ground himself.  _ You’re right here, _ he told himself.  _ You are not going to die. _

But the nightmare had somehow irritated Nathaniel’s wounds even more, and they burned where they were hidden from sight beneath his clothing.

The lacerations the leather had left were bad, and Nathaniel was sure they would scar.

Breathing in deeply, Nathaniel dared to close his eyes for a moment. At that moment, he did not care to see the lavish furnishings of his chamber. The decorative tapestries his father had provided.

“Nathaniel?” a soft voice asked, stirring Nathaniel from his forced calm, and making him jump in surprise and horror.

Nathaniel relaxed, however, when his gaze fell upon a familiar figure perched on his window ledge. He was dressed in black, and Nathaniel barely felt himself suppress a surprised laugh.

“Hello,” he said lightly, unable to think of anything else to say. That was not too odd, given that he was lying in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat, breathing heavily, with not-quite-dried tears streaking down his cheeks.

“Heavens, Nathaniel, what in fuck’s sake is wrong with you?” asked Andrew Minyard hopping agilely off the window ledge, and coming to Nathaniel’s bedside.

“I’m fine,” Nathaniel assured Andrew, but the latter was obviously not convinced.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Andrew hissed. He was the only person that Nathaniel knew who used swear words; King Nathan had deemed such behavior unprincely, something only foul, pathetic peasants did.

“It’s not—I’m  _ fine, _ Andrew,” Nathaniel insisted. Though this timing was not ideal, Nathaniel couldn’t help but be grateful for Andrew’s presence.

For the past few years, the two of them had been engaging in private meetings. They’d become fast friends since their first encounter in the palace gardens, and ever since, the pair had been pursuing a private friendship.

If their escapades ever became known to King Nathan or any of his confidantes, disaster would ensue for both Nathaniel and Andrew—the latter likely taking the brunt of it. Which was why their meetings had to be kept secret.

Nathaniel didn’t mind; Andrew was rough and crude and tough and dangerous, but he was also funny and soft and juvenile, though he attempted to hide that side of himself. Andrew was unlike any other friend Nathaniel had, and he was easily Nathaniel’s favorite.

Nathaniel found himself compelled to admit things to Andrew that he would utter a word about to anyone else.

“You’re not fine, you fucking imbecile,” Andrew chided. He nodded towards the bed. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel replied easily. Unlike many of the other friends Nathaniel had, Andrew seemed to value verbal authorization when it came to physical contact and the crossing of whatever invisible boundaries that might’ve existed.

At first, Nathaniel had found it odd, but now it was simple as anything else. Andrew needed to ask, and be asked, where contact was concerned.

Nathaniel had an inkling that this was tied to the reason Andrew lived with Sir Wymack, the head of Nathaniel’s personal guard. Wymack was not Andrew’s father, not was Andrew was exactly his apprentice, but they lived together all the same, and had something of a familial bond.

This was due to what Nathaniel assumed was a sinister incident (or multiple incidents) between Andrew and his former family. This was something that had only been alluded to vaguely by the other two in Nathaniel’s presence, but Nathaniel had the presence of mind to infer.

This whole circumstance made Nathaniel angry beyond belief—the idea that the family Andrew had previously lived with inflicted such horrific pain upon him that Andrew was forced to seek out different lodging, and resolved never to speak casually of it again.

But if Andrew didn’t like to discuss it, Nathaniel was surely inclined to respect his wishes. It was Andrew’s prerogative to deal with his own pain however he saw fit. This was something Nathaniel had to remind himself of often.

Andrew boosted himself up onto the bed, which was rather tall, indeed. It also didn’t help that Andrew was, essentially, pint-sized. Now fifteen years of age, Andrew didn’t have much more time in which to grow.

“What was it this time,” Andrew said. He phrased his words like a question, but his voice did not incline at the end of the sentence. He was not asking for Nathaniel to tell him; he was commanding.

“Nightmare,” Nathaniel replied, though he knew that was not what Andrew was asking.

Over the years, after Andrew had developed his clever rope contraption that allowed him to climb the palace wall and enter Nathaniel’s quarters directly, Andrew had walked in on many of Nathaniel’s “episodes.”

Due to this, Andrew had a specific process when it came to calming Nathaniel down. Nathaniel was so used to it, by now, that he felt himself beginning to calm down merely at the familiar, comforting sight of Andrew’s flat gaze.

“No,” Andrew said simply. Nathaniel sighed.

“First, it was Madam Lola, with a knife,” admitted Nathaniel, suppressing a shudder at the memory, recent enough to be ingrained in his head. “Then it was Matt, then Kevin.”

“Fucking morons,” Andrew said, speaking ill of the villains in Nathaniel’s nightmare.

“Matt and Kevin aren’t morons, it was just the dream,” Nathaniel insisted. He didn’t understand Andrew’s hatred of every other friend he had; Andrew spent much time with them daily, given that he was training to be a knight just as many of them were.

“Anyone you have nightmares about is worthy of the title ‘moron,’ as well as much worse,” Andrew replied acidically. The corrosive tone of his words, however, wasn’t directed towards Nathaniel.

Nathaniel just sighed, opting to let Andrew possess whatever opinion he wished. He would, anyway, Nathaniel knew.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Andrew asked after a moment of calm silence.

“No,” Nathaniel decided. “Talk to me, instead. I don’t even wish to think about it.”

“Alright,” Andrew said. He rested his head on his hand, and for a moment, Nathaniel felt Andrew’s eyes skim over his face. He almost thought he heard Andrew sigh, but Nathaniel was too exhausted to ask about it.

“What shall I say?” Andrew asked.

“Training,” Nathaniel prompted. “I wish to hear about Wymack’s combat lessons.”

“Very well,” Andrew conceded, rolling his eyes at Nathaniel. He was doubtlessly exhausted of having to recount the details of these lessons to Nathaniel, who drank up the information as though his thirst for knightly knowledge could not be quenched.

“Today, Wymack had us spar with an opponent, as usual, and I’d been assigned to Matt,” Andrew began, leaning back onto the bed’s fluffy comforter.

Surprisingly, the pain on Nathaniel’s chest hardly felt like it was even there anymore.

“Heavens, Sir Boyd is strong,” Nathaniel commented. “I’d not be surprised if his biceps spontaneously became sentient.”

Andrew snorted. “Are my biceps not worthy of sentience, too?”

“Naturally,” Nathaniel assured Andrew. “Your biceps are just as worthy, if not more.” Andrew rolled his eyes, but seemed satisfied with that, and so he went on.

“Well, anyway, Laila Dermott was paired with Nicky, and of course, that three-inch knave, Seth, had to make some sort of rampallionish comment about how Nicky wasn’t strong enough to spar with a  _ man,” _ Andrew said, looking incensed by Seth’s rudeness even now.

“That Seth truly is a weasel, isn’t he,” remarked Nathaniel, wrinkling his nose. Tall, blonde, and close-minded, Seth Gordon came from a wealthy, aristocratic family. He tended to make disrespectful and utterly witless comments at any chance he was given.

“Nothing short of,” Andrew agreed. “Anyhow, everyone knew Seth was preaching utter bullshit, since Nicky is strong as any, and Laila’s one of the toughest women I know.”

“And was Seth reprimanded?” Nathaniel asked, growing invested in Andrew’s tale.

“By Wymack? No,” Andrew groused. “I took care of him.”

“Do tell,” Nathaniel grinned. He so enjoyed hearing about Andrew’s mischievous penchant for violence. It was, of course, well-deserved violence, after all. Plus, Nathaniel received a sort of voyeuristic pleasure from hearing about Andrew pursuing wild fights. They tended to be of a breed of brawling that Nathaniel, a thoroughly composed prince, would never get to experience.

“I hit him just here,” Andrew recounted, demonstrating by launching his fist in slow motion towards the area on Nathaniel’s face. He stopped before he met Nathaniel’s skin, however.

“That sounds glorious,” Nathaniel admitted. Andrew’s eyes gleamed with a euphoric daze as he recalled the event; he, too, treasured the instances in which he ran rampant against those who deserved it.

“It was glorious, indeed,” Andrew agreed with a smile. “The rest was a bloody shit-show, but at least I managed to land a punch.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being literal when you use the word ‘bloody’ in this instance,” Nathaniel quipped with a grin. Andrew snorted in return and raked his fingers through his own hair.

After Andrew sat up, his icy blonde locks were fluffy from having been pressed among the blankets, and from his fingers’ contact. It was an endearing sort of look, and Nathaniel found himself smiling.

When Andrew noticed Nathaniel’s expression, however, his own small smile fell away to a look of horror.

“What?” Nathaniel asked, suddenly worried he’d done something wrong. Just as soon as the horrified look appeared, it melted into one of blank indifference. “Are you alright?”

“Nothing,” Andrew said in a monotone, standing up abruptly. “I’ve just remembered that there’s somewhere my presence is required.”

“Alright,” Nathaniel shrugged, somewhat bewildered while Andrew crossed the room and swung one leg over the window sill. How Andrew could do that despite his crippling fear of heights, Nathaniel would never understand.

“I suppose I’ll see you soon?” Nathaniel asked, glancing at Andrew hopefully. Cold brown eyes looked back at Nathaniel, the warmth that filled them before entirely absent.

“Perhaps,” Andrew said simply, before grabbing the rope that he’d fastened there, and disappearing.

Even though Andrew hadn’t said it, Nathaniel couldn’t help but imagine him adding,  _ “But don’t hold your breath.” _

Prince Nathaniel buried his face in his pillows and gritted his teeth when the horrible aching and burning sensation on his chest reappeared. He closed his eyes against a separate onslaught of pain, and wished for sleep once more.

⋆

“I just don’t see the appeal in a betrothal,” Nathaniel shrugged, flicking his head to coax a few wayward auburn curls out of his eyes. “If you’re going to marry anyone, shouldn’t it be someone of your  _ own _ choosing?”

“Nathaniel, betrothal are made generally for the benefit of the kingdom,” Prince Jean of Marseilles Court explained patiently. Jean was four years older than Nathaniel, dead handsome, and unbearably patronizing.

Jean and his father, King Algernon, as well as an assortment of members from their Court, were visiting Baltimore’s Foxhole, for the sake of alliance negotiations. Nathaniel and Jean were meant to bond and become princely friends, despite their large difference in age.

It was becoming intensely difficult for Nathaniel to look past the fact that Jean himself was seventeen, however, because Jean kept bringing up the fact that he had heard whisperings of a marriage alliance between the Foxhole and Evermore Courts.

What made Jean’s well-meaning condescension even harder to bear was the knowledge that, technically, Nathaniel was more powerful than he was. After all, Baltimore’s Foxhole Court was three times the size of Marseilles—in fact, the only kingdom that rivaled the Wesninskis’ was Evermore Court, under the Moriyama reign.

Nathaniel attempted to push all thoughts of the Moriyamas from his mind, but his efforts proved to be in vain, given that the current topic of conversation had come about due to that very family.

“Yes, yes, that I’m aware of,” Nathaniel agreed, his temper short. “However, I find it rather stifling to force an arranged marriage upon young royalty, stripping them of their romantic freedom, simply for the sake of a stronger Court alliance.”

“Nathaniel,  _ mon cher, _ I don’t expect you to fully understand the flexibility that the betrothal alliance lends,” Jean sighed, his posture remaining perfect even as he perched on a throne meant for reclining. “Given that you  _ are _ only thirteen, after all.”

At this, Nathaniel’s temper flared as he shifted and fidgeted on his own matching, albeit slightly smaller, throne. (He’d opted not to let the size of their accommodations get to him; it made sense that Jean’s height of six feet and two inches garnered a larger chair than Nathaniel’s modest four-foot-nine.)

“Jean, you and I both know that age does not equal maturity,” Nathaniel remarked, leaning forward with an air of conspiracy. “Take a look at King Algernon, over there.”

Nodding his head towards Jean’s father, Nathaniel cleverly mocked the Moreau family. It was a known fact that King Algernon tended to turn to  _ de l’alcool _ more than a wise, pious ruler probably should.

Jean pinked and fixed Nathaniel with a cold glare. “Beware, prince,” he advised with an upturned nose, “Wit and humor do not tend to be adequate substitutes for wisdom.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Jean,” Nathaniel replied, rolling his eyes.

With that, he turned away from Jean and busied himself with picking at his fingernails, which happened to be of a length not typically seen on young boys. Nathaniel disliked the act of cutting his nails, and also secretly found long nails more aesthetically attractive than short, stubby ones.

Jean turned to his personal guard, a man whom Nathaniel remembered the name of; Giraud. Nathaniel heard Jean say, in a snide tone of French, “The young brat’s simply upset that he’s going to be forced to wed Riko Moriyama.”

Nathaniel gritted his teeth. He was  _ not _ going to be forced to wed Riko Moriyama. No matter how much the marriage alliance mattered to his father’s kingdom, it just wasn’t going to happen.

On the other end of the throne room, King Nathan was discussing something with King Algernon. Though Algernon’s gestures were animated, both rulers were speaking in equally hushed tones. Nathaniel wondered what they were talking about, and how it would affect him.

At the sight of Nathan Wesninski’s cool blue eyes and uncaring, bland expression, Nathaniel was struck with a sudden, hopeless notion. If Nathan wanted Nathaniel to marry Riko Moriyama, Nathaniel would.

He would have to.

The thought left Nathaniel feeling queasy and unbalanced. It wasn’t a good sensation, and Nathaniel found himself longing for some distraction. He almost wished  _ he’d _ had a taste of whatever was in Algernon’s jeweled goblet.

⋆

Prince Nathaniel found himself in the palace gardens, once again.

Having been unable to sleep, he’d snuck out of his chamber using Andrew’s contraption, and wandered aimlessly around the palace grounds, letting his feet take him wherever they wished as he stared off into nothing.

Nathaniel hadn’t talked with Andrew since he’d left in a hurry after Nathaniel’s nightmare, and it had been almost a week since then.

_ This is not normal, _ Nathaniel had told himself glumly a few hours before, as he’d waited in his chambers, fidgeting and restless, hoping that Andrew might turn up.

More than once since Andrew’s abrupt departure, Nathaniel wondered what he’d done to scare Andrew away. After a few days of useless wondering and brooding, Nathaniel made up his mind: he had to know.

“So, Wymack,” Nathaniel had begun, attempting to broach the subject with the head of his personal guard as they strolled briskly across the palace grounds, “How has Andrew been as of late?”

“Andrew?” Wymack had asked, his surprise at the inquiry showing on his face. “Yes, I suppose he’s been alright. Why do you ask, your highness?”

“Well, just that—um, Wymack, you do know that Andrew and I have been… meeting in secret, yes?” Nathaniel asked cautiously.

Wymack sighed. “Yes, Nathaniel, and frankly, it’s not a good idea. This sneaking around will not end well for either of you.”

“Thank you for your input, Sir, but I couldn’t care less,” Nathaniel had replied honestly. “I simply want to know: is Andrew angry with me?”

“Angry with you? I haven’t heard anything about that,” Wymack had replied. “But Andrew’s anger is generally well-deserved. I mean no presumption, your highness, but did you somehow provoke Andrew’s wrath?”

“Heavens, I hope not,” Nathaniel lamented. “Wymack, I believe I’ve been rather careful so as not to accidentally cross any boundaries.”

“You didn’t touch him without permission, your highness, did you?” Wymack had asked cautiously.

“No, heavens, no, not that I’m aware of,” Nathaniel had replied immediately. He wouldn’t do something like that; not when he knew how much Andrew despised it.

“Alright, then, I suppose,” Wymack sighed. “I will ask him when I see him, if you’d like.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Nathaniel had said. Wymack had sighed and nodded, mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like,  _ ridiculous teenage boys. _

Now, it was past midnight, and Nathaniel was staring at a patch of forget-me-nots, feeling lost. The gardens should’ve been eerie at that hour, bathed in darkness with only a sliver of moonlight, but Nathaniel thought it was nice.

Wymack had told Nathaniel that Andrew hadn’t expressed any newfound grudges toward the prince, but that he also hadn’t expressed  _ anything _ at all. According to Wymack, Andrew had dismissed his question with an eye roll, and then left the room.

Kicking at the ground, Nathaniel tried out a curse under his breath;  _ “Fuck,” _ he swore, before immediately clapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh, heavens, I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Can’t even handle basic swear words, can you?” a familiar, unimpressed voice asked. Nathaniel turned on his heel, his blue eyes growing wide when they landed on Andrew’s black-clad figure.

_ “Andrew!” _ Nathaniel cried, rather loudly, before wincing and whisper-yelling, “Andrew!”

“Fucking heavens, Nathaniel, shut up,” Andrew murmured with an in-character eye roll. “You’ll get us both in immense trouble.”

“Sorry,” Nathaniel whispered back. “You’re back! Were you angry with me?”

Andrew was silent for a moment. In that moment, Nathaniel absently took stock of him; the starlight turned Andrew’s ice blonde hair silver, and highlighted the sharp cliffs of his cheekbones, and the graceful slant of his eyes.

“Yes,” Andrew said after a silence, and before Nathaniel could open his mouth to respond, Andrew stepped forward covered it with his palm. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

Nathaniel attempted to speak, but Andrew’s hand was blocking him, making his words come out muffled and wrong. Forgetting himself for a moment, Nathaniel stuck out his tongue and licked a stripe down Andrew’s palm, in an attempt to get him to remove it.

Snatching his hand back, Andrew fixed Nathaniel with a cold glare, his nostrils flaring. For a moment, Nathaniel froze, afraid he’d upset Andrew again. “I’m sorry, I—” Nathaniel began, but Andrew surprised him. He barked out a laugh, and hastily wiped his palm on his dark trousers.

“Well, that was fucking vile, Nathaniel,” Andrew commented, turning up his nose at Nathaniel, who followed suit, huffing a surprised laugh as well.

“I apologize,” Nathaniel said, sincerely, as soon as he’d calmed down. “I forgot, momentarily, that you didn’t like touching, and I suppose I just—”

“You needn’t put on a show,” Andrew sneered. “I detest apologies. Besides, it was I who touched you first, was it not?”

“...Well, yes, but nevertheless,” Nathaniel tried.

“No,” Andrew said simply. “Nathaniel, if you ever wish for me to stop doing anything, you need not do more than say ‘no.’ I promise I will heed.”

“Er, thank you, I suppose, but I doubt that’s at all necessary,” Nathaniel replied, feeling his ears heat for practically no reason. He was glad that, in the dark, Andrew surely could not notice the redness. “I’ve never… I mean, there has never been an instance wherein I wanted you to cease anything.”

“Thus far,” Andrew added. “I’m aware that you’re naive and think that everyone is lovely, but there will, perhaps, be an instance in which you’d prefer your space. For that reason, I want you to know that all you need to do is say ‘no.’”

“I  _ doubt _ there will be an instance,” Nathaniel repeated, “but I will keep that in mind if you insist.”

“I insist,” Andrew said flatly.

“So be it,” Nathaniel replied.

“And I’ll have you know that I will tell you ‘no’ if I want you to cease doing something,” Andrew continued, his expression darkening slightly as he spoke. “And you  _ will _ heed.”

“I will heed,” Nathaniel agreed. “You have my word, Andrew.”

“Very well,” Andrew said, after a moment’s silence.

_ And you’ll ask ‘yes or no’ before you touch him, _ Nathaniel told himself.  _ You’ll ask it before you do anything at all to him. _

“Very well,” Nathaniel repeated.

And so, it was a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!! thank you so much for reading.
> 
> i just want to clarify that the rest of the fic probably will not skip four year periods between each part. i’m going to most likely keep it between one and two year breaks!
> 
> also, let me know if you would like some sort of song rec to listen to while you read :).
> 
> FINALLY, find me on tumblr (& maybe request a one shot??? if the fancy strikes???) @ saintsforbid.


	3. part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (horridly un-informant) sex education. one pining lesbian. some angst that’ll (hopefully) leave a bad feeling in your stomach!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! i apologize profusely for the lack of updates lately. i’ve been sick & sad, but here’s a long chapter in the hopes that you’ll forgive me. as usual, apologies in advance for any mistakes.
> 
> trigger warnings: discussions of sex/sexual education, mentions of child & domestic abuse, discussions of arranged marriage, mentions of war.

Allison Reynolds was, realistically, the prettiest girl Prince Nathaniel had ever seen. Her long blonde hair trailed down her shoulders, a golden waterfall, and her face gave the word ‘masterpiece’ a new meaning.

Allison’s bone structure seemed to have been carved from fragile porcelain by a meticulous hand. Her pale skin was graced with a dainty, perfect nose and elegant cheekbones. A smattering of heavenly freckles dusted her cheeks, and those alone were worthy of the most lauding ode any minstrel could compose.

Beyond that, Allison’s eyes alone were enough to classify her as the ethereal creature she was. Wide and a sparkling pale green, Allison’s eyes were flecked with emerald and gold. Framed by feathery black lashes, Allison looked straight out of a portrait titled, “the most beautiful girl.”

“That’s what you should tell her,” Lady Renee Walker said matter-of-factly, finishing up her statement. Nathaniel simply stared at her.

The two were seated on chairs meant for reclining, lazing about in the palace gardens, soaking up the spring sun. Renee had just finished waxing poetic as she described Princess Allison Reynolds of Palmetta Court. Nathaniel was somewhat gobsmacked at the way Renee had concluded her lyrical speech with such a simple statement.

“Renee,” Nathaniel began, but before he could ask, Renee shook her head.

“Whatever you mean to say, Prince Nathaniel, I do not wish to hear it,” Renee told him, folding her hands primly in the lap of her pretty lilac dress. Nathaniel frowned but conceded, falling silent once more.

He didn’t understand why Renee regarded her obvious infatuation with Princess Allison with such a solemn attitude. It wasn’t as if Allison was unattainable to someone of Renee’s stature, which was fairly good.

“Alright then, I suppose,” Nathaniel shrugged. “But. I still think that you should confess.”

“Confess what, your highness? I’m unaware of what you’re referring to,” Renee deflected innocently, blinking owlishly at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel returned her expression with a flat look he had learned from Andrew.

“Truly, Prince Nathaniel, it is of no importance,” Renee sighed, smoothing her skirt. “Nothing will come of my feelings, anyhow, and if I attempt to be forthright, I will only find myself hurt. Not to mention the political risk I would be taking. Both Princess Allison and I could be humiliated.”

“But,  _ Renee,” _ Nathaniel whined. He couldn’t bear to see Renee let Allison slip through her fingers, especially since Nathaniel could see an obvious chance for her to explain her emotions. Renee was meant to accompany Allison to the upcoming masquerade ball, as her dance partner for the Fox’s Waltz.

“With all due respect, your highness, you’ll find that I won’t be swayed by any amount of harping,” Renee said crisply.

Nathaniel crossed his arms, sulking like a petulant child. “Fine, then, be a bore,” Nathaniel sighed. “Why is it that  _ I _ have to be the one to cause all the trouble around here?”

“Your highness, let’s take a look at the facts, shall we?” Renee asked politely, cocking her head in Nathaniel’s direction. The prince shrugged. Renee tended to like laying out all the information in front of her.

“Foremost, there has been gratuitous talk that you and Princess Allison are to be wed,” Renee started off, drawing an elongated groan from Nathaniel, who covered his eyes and slid halfway down his chair in misery.

“I beg of you, don’t remind me,” Nathaniel said, peeking one eye out from below his arm. It was becoming frequent, then, for rumors to arise about Nathaniel’s ‘upcoming’ betrothal to the young heirs of various other Courts. The latest had been Riko Moriyama, Allison Reynolds, and even the odd mention of Jean Moreau. “I can’t understand why I need to marry anyone at all. I’m only fourteen, after all.”

“...And, for all we know, her highness does not even feel attraction towards women,” Renee finished, fixing Nathaniel with an expectant stare.

“She’d be quite a fool to reject someone like you,” Nathaniel said, with half his face obscured, still partly on the ground.

“That means much to me, your highness,” Renee replied, her tone sweet.

“It’s nothing but the truth,” Nathaniel responded. He removed both hands from his face in favor of raking his fingers through the tangled mop of auburn curls atop his head, but he remained in his odd position on the chair. Nathaniel was sure he must look very scoundrel-like, indeed, but he did not care much. After all, he was only in Renee’s company.

“You’re very kind, Prince Nathaniel,” Renee told him, gazing fondly at the younger boy as he fussed idly with his hair.

“Renee, I’ll have you know that I will not fall prey to your sweet words and charming smiles,” Nathaniel warned. “I intend to hold a grudge against you until you promise to pursue a relationship with Princess Allison.”

“Very well, your highness,” Renee sighed, standing up and smoothing her dress once more. Nathaniel immediately perked up, blue eyes widening.

“Are you going now, then?”

“Nathaniel, I am going to catch up on my studies. You’re well aware that I am not attempting at a courtship with Princess Allison anytime soon. My only hope is that you see fit to forgive me,” Renee said, her tone diplomatic and kind, but not outrightly condescending.

Nathaniel sulked.

⋆

The human body was no mystery to Nathaniel Wesninski. A boy of fourteen years, he was at least slightly enlightened in the ways of sexuality and reproduction—at least, the elements of it that his textbooks covered.

Nathaniel was rather surprised that he hadn’t learned much about sex, already, though. He had a theory that the crown prince’s curriculum was minced and edited, in what Nathaniel assumed was an attempt to keep him pure of mind.

(Which was absurd. Nathaniel was privy to many filthy, wrong things about humanity, and compared to what he had been exposed to, sex seemed rather mild.)

Another thing that surprised Nathaniel, though, was the fact that he was about ninety per-cent sure that he did not understand sex on a chemical level, the way some of his friends did.

He had seen the way Sir Matt’s eyes followed Lady Danielle when she stretched before training, on the rare occasion Nathaniel was permitted within the training facilities.

Nathaniel knew enough to deduce at least the vaguest idea of what was happening when Prince Jean and his handsome valet, Jeremy Knox, disappeared into Jean’s chamber alone for vast periods of time.

What  _ did _ escape Nathaniel, however, was why he couldn’t understand the pull of attraction that every one of his friends seemed to experience. Yes, Nathaniel found people handsome or pretty, but not so much that he wanted to put his hands on them.

Nathaniel discussed this one afternoon by the lake with Andrew.

Since they’d met, five years ago, Andrew and Nathaniel had become fast friends. Nathaniel would go so far to say that at this point, the pair of them were  _ best _ mates. Nathaniel trusted no one above Andrew, besides perhaps Sir Wymack. And though Nathaniel knew that Andrew’s trust for him didn’t have the same depth, he understood that Andrew’s past made it difficult for him to fully put faith in someone else.

“It’s just that,” Nathaniel began, drawing circles in the sandy bank of the lake, “I can see everyone else, and how they all know who they’re attracted to. Or, well, at the very least, they are attracted to  _ someone.” _

“And you’re not?” Andrew sounded skeptical. He sat at Nathaniel’s side, and in the blue-pink-orange light of the sunset, his pale hair took on a rainbow of colors. It looked spectacular.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Nathaneil replied.

“Nathaniel, could it be that you’re unaware of what attraction  _ is, _ and therefore can’t place it?” Andrew asked slowly. He regarded Nathaniel with curiosity, the guardedness that used to adorn his expressions having evaporated over time.

“I suppose,” Nathaniel shrugged. “But I doubt it. Allison gave me some books, once… I’ve never felt anything at all like they describe it in the books.”

Andrew looked mildly amused. “What kind of books?”

“About a girl named Zena,” Nathaniel said, recalling the strange novels. “She’s a peasant in a kingdom with a wicked king, C—uh, what was it? Castelan?”

_ “Castelan,” _ Andrew echoed, eyes shining with mirth despite the neutral expression on his face.

“Yes,” Nathaniel said definitively, nodding. “His name was Castelan. Well, I don’t remember quite how it happened, but Zena was hired to become Castelan’s royal advisor—”

“Nathaniel,” Andrew interrupted, folding his hands and looking like he was one moment away from bursting into laughter. “What type of book, exactly, was this?”

“Well, I’m not  _ sure,” _ Nathaniel huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He was deliberately avoiding, Andrew’s gaze, and was being so horribly obvious about it that Andrew was already snorting under his breath.

“Was it a  _ dirty _ book,” Andrew said after a moment, propping his face up on his hands. Nathaniel glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and felt his cheeks heat.

“I suppose,” he admitted.

“And you didn’t get anything out of it?”

“What’s that to mean, Andrew?” Nathaniel asked, finally looking at his friend. His blue eyes were full of genuine curiosity, and Andrew quickly looked away.

“Nathaniel, there are certain reasons why one would bother oneself with a book like that,” Andrew said, his voice flat.

“What do you mean?” Nathaniel asked, leaning forward, curious. “My tutor, Dawson, told me that we read books for the sake of enlightenment. Is that not the truth?”

Andrew rolled his eyes so hard that it must’ve hurt him. “Oh, heavens,” Andrew huffed, leaning back. “I did not ask for this.”

“Ask for  _ what, _ Andrew? You’ve not yet answered my question,” Nathaniel prodded.

Andrew looked back at him, blushed, and then promptly looked away. “No, Nathaniel. Ask Kevin or Matt or Nicky, or something.”

“But,  _ why? _ Why can’t  _ you _ just tell me?” Nathaniel asked, wrinkling his nose at Andrew in irritation.

“Because I can’t, Nathaniel,” Andrew said simply. “I find it utterly ridiculous that someone of your age is so ignorantly naive.”

“It’s not  _ my _ fault,” Nathaniel huffed.

Andrew gave him a flat look, and then something clicked into place.

“Wait,  _ Andrew,” _ Nathaniel said, realization dawning on him. “Does it have something to do with what Castelan and Ze—”

_ “No,” _ Andrew interrupted, his tone emphatic and final. Nathaniel, despite his desire to keep pestering Andrew, understood what that tone of voice meant.

“Alright, I apologize, Andrew,” Nathaniel sighed. His brain was still whirring, however, as he turned over this brand-new information. He hadn’t realized that what the characters in Allison’s book seemed to want was a universal desire. Nathaniel surely couldn’t relate.

“No,” Andrew repeated, shaking his head. “No more apologies.”

Nathaniel considered this for a moment, and decided that if Andrew wanted him to stop, he would. “As you wish, Andrew. No more apologies.”

Andrew merely nodded, leaning back again, and watching the sunset as it slipped further below the horizon. Their surrounds were doused in the glowing, muted rainbow that the sunset prompted, and it filled Nathaniel with calm and contentment. He  _ liked _ just sitting here with Andrew, watching the colors spill across the lake’s reflective surface, knowing that Andrew would never ask from him more than he could give.

Nathaniel considered his worried thoughts concerning how different he seemed to be from the others, and he considered laying them to rest, or at least filing them away for another time.

He turned to Andrew, watching the colors play through his light hair once again. “You’re my best friend, Andrew,” Nathaniel said, his voice interrupting their silence, coming out of the blue.

“Shut your mouth, Nathaniel,” Andrew huffed out after a moment, not meeting Nathaniel’s expectant gaze.

“But I—” Nathaniel began, eager to explain to Andrew that he was telling the truth, that he really  _ did _ think of him as his best friend, that this was a genuine admission.

“I said, shut  _ up,” _ Andrew snarled, but though his voice was rough, it didn’t hold any heat. Nathaniel flashed him a grin when Andrew finally looked into his eyes, and Andrew retaliated by standing up and dusting off his trousers.

“I suppose I’ll be off, then,” Andrew sneered from behind Nathaniel, and Nathaniel tilted his head backwards so he was looking at Andrew upside-down. The young prince pouted at Andrew, who frowned back.

“Don’t you want to spend your free time with  _ me, _ your  _ best friend?” _ Nathaniel asked, his voice honeyed. Andrew glared back at him, the orange sheen of the light setting his topaz eyes aflame.

“You’re utterly ridiculous,” Andrew scoffed at last, but Nathaniel didn’t mind, because just after the words left his mouth, Andrew sat back down at Nathaniel’s side.

⋆

Trouble was arising within Baltimore’s Foxhole Court. King Nathan was cooler, more calculating and indignant in the presence of the public. But behind closed doors, his demeanor was harsh fire. King Nathan was angrier and more violent with his son. What used to be bi-weekly lashings from the back of his hand became daily assaults, with Nathan hefting the heavy iron crowbar that he kept by the fire to prod the coals.

Prince Nathaniel’s chest and back bore dark bruises and red burns, neatly kept within the areas that could be concealed by the princely attire he wore most often.

Nathan Wesninski was nothing if not careful.

While part of young prince Nathaniel wanted to forget entirely about his father’s newfound ire, the other half yearned to know what brought on this wave of fury.

Nathaniel tried to listen in on King Nathan’s meetings with his advisors, which had become more frequent as of late, but it was always risky to go against his father’s word. Though Nathaniel was sneaky about his eavesdropping, one could never be sure when a guard or servant, endlessly loyal to the King, was watching.

What Nathaniel’s days lacked in information, however, they made up for with company. All of a sudden, Prince Nathaniel found his every endeavor being waylaid by the presence of a companion. And always one that his father would, theoretically, approve of.

For this exact reason, it was commonplace when Princess Allison Reynolds of Eros Court sat amidst the palace gardens’ white roses, having her portrait painted by Baltimore’s most renowned artist, a girl named Katelyn. Nathaniel was keeping Allison company, chatting with her while Katelyn worked, which he didn’t hate  _ too _ much.

Allison was, technically, a friend of his. After all, she had gifted Nathaniel those horrid books. And she was funny. Altogether, Allison was very different than the other princesses Nathaniel knew. She didn’t bend or blush or flick her fan needlessly in her direction. Allison was fully aware of her abnormal loveliness, and the fact that she had the affections of nearly everyone in each Court.

“Nathaniel, darling, I’ve not seen you in your blue tunic, the one I gave to you last Christmas,” Allison drawled, letting a sky-blue fan hang precariously (albeit elegantly) off of her pinky finger.

Nathaniel didn’t mention that he was of Jewish descent, inheriting the religion from his mother, Mary. King Nathan didn’t approve of Nathaniel’s late mother’s faith, and had demanded Nathaniel live to be the Catholic boy he’d wanted.

“Ah, I assure you, I treasure the tunic greatly,” Nathaniel lied. He hadn’t removed the thing from the satin satchel the servants had sent it up to his wardrobe in. Nathaniel detested wearing the color blue. He didn’t like how noticeable it made the striking blue of his eyes, how it highlighted how similar his and King Nathan’s appearances were.

“As you should,” Allison sniffed in that effortlessly superior way of hers. “It was a rather expensive gift, and I—well, my Court’s seamstress—procured it especially for you. To bring out your lovely eyes, you know.”

Nathaniel attempted not to blush, but of course, failed. “Thank you, Allison,” he offered.

“Naturally, darling, you’re welcome,” Allison said, flicking her fingers in his direction as if to ward off how apparently ridiculous Nathaniel was being.

Katelyn smudged her thumb in a mix of multiple shades of green that became a pale mint color. She wrinkled her nose, squinted her eyes, and held her thumb up in front of where Allison sat, in her line of vision.

“Is that  _ willow _ green, Katelyn?” Allison asked, leaning forward, curiosity evident in her voice. “My eyes are willow green. Not mint. Or moss.”

Nathaniel sighed inwardly and leaned back in his chair. This was so  _ boring. _ He wished he could go and find Andrew, or Matt, or Kevin. No, Andrew would be best…

“Have you any news about your betrothal, then, Nathaniel?” Allison asked, turning back to the young prince, the shade of green-centric predicament apparently sorted out.

“Not yet, no,” Nathaniel said, sitting up straighter. Slouching was  _ not _ princely.

“A shame,” Allison frowned. “I’d like to know, too. Take no offense from this, Nathaniel, but I’d wish to be drawn and quartered rather than marry you.”

“Don’t worry,” Nathaniel remarked, miserable as he always was when the topic of his betrothal was brought up. “I’d feel the same way.” Not only was Allison fifteen—a year older than Nathaniel—but she was also infinitely different. She was taller, more poised, and just… incompatible with him, overall.

“That’s a relief.” Allison snorted in a way that was not very princess-like, but was pretty enough to suit her nonetheless.

“...But I have heard whisperings about a marriage alliance with Cambridge Court,” Nathaniel sighed, miserable. Though it was not worse than the idea of marrying into the Moriyama family, Nathaniel highly doubted he would be pleased with a betrothal to Cambridge Court’s Princess Theodora. The thought made his skin crawl.

That was mainly due to the fact that Princess Theodora—commonly called Thea—was five years older than him. Furthermore, though, the nineteen-year-old Princess had undergone more than her fair share of trauma.

According to “legend,” Thea had been visiting Evermore Court, three years ago, and engaging in a friendly, joking swordfight with Prince Riko. Riko was four years Thea’s junior, and therefore, the princess had gone easy on Riko. After all, no matter how talented he was according to rumors, no eleven-year-old deserved the wrath of an infinitely more experienced girl of fifteen.

But Riko had beaten Thea, and in no time, was challenging her to a second duel—wherein she used her talents to their  _ full _ potential. Princess Thea, never one to turn down a challenge, agreed… and proceeded to lose again.

After a maddening cycle of fighting against and losing against eleven-year-old Riko, over and over again, Thea was exhausted and humiliated. She retired to bathe, prepare and wallow before the banquet that her family was having alongside the Ravens (as Evermore Court’s royalty were called).

During the meal, King Kengo Moriyama proposed a deal to Thea. He asked if Theodora wished to hone her swordsmanship under the watchful eye of Tetsuji Moriyama, one of Evermore’s princes, and the world’s most renowned sword fighting coach.

Thea, a princess always wishing to improve and become the best, readily agreed to Kengo’s terms without hearing them. She’d said, “whatever they may be.”

King Kengo had simply smiled and told her that a chamber would be ready for her by the end of her Court’s trip.

Thea was thrilled; she assumed that she would train with Tetsuji, become the best sword fighter she could, and then return to her kingdom. What she didn’t know was that Kengo intended to keep her much longer.

And thus, Princess Theodora Muldani of Cambridge Court was imprisoned in Evermore Court, “indebted” to the Moriyamas. She was forced to spend her days toiling away in the dark, dank practice chambers with Master Tetsuji Moriyama, and occasionally the Raven Prince himself.

A shiver ran down Nathaniel’s spine as he recalled that tale. Of course, in the end, Cambridge Court and Evermore Court had reached an agreement that allowed Thea to come back home. But not without two years of tensions running high between both kingdoms, and by extension, those connected to them.

Nathaniel had been just twelve years of age when the conflict began, but ever since it ended a year ago, he’d wanted to steer clear of the Muldanis. Nathaniel had his fair share of problems with the Moriyamas, and he did not wish to encounter more.

“Oh, heavens, no, Nathaniel,” Allison shakes her head, her eyes not leaving Katelyn in order to help the artist create the best portrait possible. “She’s ancient. Practically an adult.”

“I’m well aware,” Nathaniel replied, his tone wry.

“Well,” Allison sighed. “I doubt the rumors will come to much, anyway. Isn’t it true that Foxhole Court is doing its best to stay in Evermore’s favor?”

“I suppose,” Nathaniel replied, considering it. “If anything, a marriage alliance with Cambridge Court would just anger the Moriyamas. Which means that perhaps a betrothal isn’t in order?”

Allison snorted again at the hope in Nathaniel’s voice, but the young prince couldn’t be bothered to tone it down. If he  _ had _ to marry anyone—and he didn’t want to, not one bit—then Nathaniel would rather it be someone closer to his own age, so as not to create some sort of imbalance in the pair of them’s power.

Furthermore, Cambridge certainly wasn’t the most expansive Court. If anything, Nathaniel would’ve preferred a more sizable domain. Perhaps something like Marseilles Court. Nathaniel did so hate Jean, however… not to mention that Jean himself was eighteen.  _ And _ rather conspicuously love with that valet of his.

“Princess Allison, if you wouldn’t mind turning your head to the side,” Katelyn requested, selecting a thinner brush from the collection perched on her easel.

“My pleasure,” Allison said sweetly, posing as the painter had asked. She then looked at Nathaniel and glared, though the look not specifically directed towards him, Nathaniel knew. “I do so hate the idea of betrothal.”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware at this point,” Nathaniel sighed. “You plan on marrying for love. Your Court is sure to allow it, Allison, Eros Court’s entire mantra is built ’round the merits of following one’s heart’s desires.”

“And it’s a good thing, too.” Allison turned up her nose, and then immediately reverted back to her original expression, not wanting to aggravate Katelyn. “Because heaven knows I would do as I pleased no matter which Court I’d been born into.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Nathaniel replied honestly. Allison tended to be rather emphatic in her insistence that she got her way. Other just tended to fall to their knees and allow her to do as she wished.

“What I’d really like to discuss, Nathaniel, is the news from Hatford Court,” Allison said, leaning forward, balancing her jaw in her palm.

“Hatford Court?” Nathaniel asked, bemused. He’d heard that name before, but he couldn’t place where.

“Yes, haven’t you heard?” Allison asked, her tone genuinely surprised. Nathaniel shook his head, and scowled when unruly auburn curls momentarily obscured his sight of the princess.

“Surely not, or we’d be further on with this conversation,” Nathaniel said irritably. Allison merely snorted, indulgent of the young prince as always.

“Very well, I’ll fill you in.” She flipped her blonde curls, and the sunlight caught in the locks. Allison’s entire image froze infinitesimally. She really  _ was _ that lovely. “There have been rumors—yes, more rumors—of Hatford Court declaring war on Baltimore.”

_ “What?” _ Nathaniel demanded, eyes widening. “Who in the heavens are these Hatford people?”

“Nathaniel, didn’t you know?” Allison asked, actual concern in her eyes. “King Stuart Hatford is your uncle.”

⋆

When Prince Nathaniel returns to his chambers after an evening of exploring yet another crop of violets in the palace gardens, a letter is waiting on his desktop. The letter’s waxen deal is broken—it’s likely been read already by King Nathan. That is not an unusual occurrence, since Nathan monitors most of Nathaniel’s correspondence.

Still, Nathaniel’s heart clenches at the sight of the seal. The tear in the wax isn’t the thing that’s made the blood drain from Nathaniel’s face, however.

Black wax. Fixed into a raven, beak parted in a caw.

The letter is addressed to  _ Prince Nathaniel Wesninski of Baltimore’s Foxhole Court. _ It is signed from  _ Prince Riko Moriyama of Evermore Court. _

With shaking fingers, Nathaniel pulls the parchment letter from within its envelope.

_ Dearest Nathaniel, _ it reads.  _ I’m so glad to inform you that I’ll soon be visiting in Baltimore. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you for reading!! i love to hear your feedback & comments, so thank you for those.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr (and possibly request one shots/submit prompts???) at @ saintsforbid <3.


	4. part four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i’m just going to let this one speak for itself. (i’m unbetaed as usual!) (also, just saying, i did not read this chapter over at all between feeling like i had to update as soon as possible and my usual exhaustion, so if this is a royal shit show, my apologies!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: mentions of abuse/torture, riko moriyama’s general presence, dominance sort of?? like one person ordering/commanding another to do things against their will, mentions of child abuse, mentions of violence, mentions of sexual content ig??

It was scalding outside when Prince Nathaniel decided to go for a walk. Despite the hellish temperatures, the gardens’ zinnias were doing well, and Nathaniel wanted to catch a glimpse. He planned on trying his hand at illustrating the garden’s sights in the parchment book he had in his satchel. It’d been years since it developed, and still Nathaniel’s obsession with flowers and plants flourished.

The sun beat down on his auburn hair, and though Nathaniel was positively  _ sweltering, _ he was locked into long-sleeved garments. For the sake of keeping up his princely image, yes, but also due to the myriad of bruises blooming across his arms and chest.

As Nathaniel roamed the palace grounds, he found his feet making their way to the designated training grounds for Baltimore’s knights-in-training. Soon enough, he stood at the landing of the raised platform where the knights practiced. It was new, established only after Sir Wymack broached the subject multiple times with King Nathan (with his advisors present, of course).

Right then, there happened to be a practice in session, so Nathaniel came to a stop to spectate. It was, of course, the least he could do as a young prince to inspect the performance of his future guards.

Inspecting became rather difficult to do, however, when Nathaniel’s eyes fell upon Andrew. Now seventeen, Andrew had developed… quite the physique. Due to his knight’s training, his arms and chest were thoroughly muscular, and now, scantily clad in training garments as all the male knights were, his body was certainly on display.

_ Huh, _ Nathaniel thought as his stomach clenched painfully upon watching Andrew clasp Matt Boyd’s arm and flip him onto his mat.  _ That was sort of new. _

After what Nathaniel assumed had been two hours or so of strenuous practice involving maximum physical exertion in the heat, Andrew was glistening with sweat. Nathaniel, inexplicably, felt his eyes nearly glaze over as he watched Andrew’s movements as the knight-in-training continued to spar with Sir Matt.

He was, it seemed, extremely prideful in his best friend.

“Your highness,” Sir Wymack hollered, yanking Nathaniel out of his strange, Andrew-centric reverie. “What a nice surprise.”

Nathaniel was not sure if that was, perhaps, sarcasm he could detect in Wymack’s tone?

“Hello, Wymack,” Nathaniel greeted him, adjusting the strap of his fancy, buttery leather satchel over his shoulder. “I was just spectating the, um… the sparring.”

“Of course you were,” Wymack said, and heavens, it seemed that Nathaniel  _ did _ pick up on a note of sarcasm.

“What is so humorous, Wymack?” Nathaniel asked, genuinely curious.

Wymack raised his eyebrows. “Nothing, your highness,” he said, in a tone that indicated something very different. Nathaniel decided not to pay it any mind.

“Prince Nathaniel, hello,” called Lady Danielle from where she stood beside Sir Nicholas. He looked rather injured indeed as he rubbed his backside, on which he’d just been flipped.

“Hi, Lady Danielle,” Nathaniel replied, offering her a rambunctious wave. He rather liked Lady Danielle, found her understanding and never condescending, despite her age—eighteen years.

“Your highness, you’re perfectly welcome to call me Dan,” she told him, walking over. “All my friends do,” she finished with a wink, which made Nathaniel grin.

Wymack rolled his eyes. “When is it that the two of you socialize? Because I’ve hardly seen you, Prince Nathaniel, outside of the gardens or the palace. And heavens know that Dan over here dedicated all her time to knight’s practice.”

“I always make time for the fun royalty,” Dan said, a twinkle in her eye.

“I’m fun royalty?” Nathaniel asked, not quite believing her. “That’s an honor.”

Dan grinned at him. “My pleasure to bestow it, your highness.”

“Go on back, Dan, it looks like Nicky’s about to collapse unless he finds his way to a healer,” Wymack instructed. Dan offered him a winning smile, all teeth, and a salute, before returning to Nicholas.

Once Lady Dan was helping Nicholas, Wymack turned back to Nathaniel. “Now, Prince, aren’t you supposed to be at your lessons?”

“Er, no, Wymack,” Nathaniel said. “I’ve got the day off. It seems my professor’s caught some terrible flu,” he grinned.

“Yes, well, I can’t help but wonder who was behind that,” Wymack said, giving Nathaniel a tired look. Surely he was remembering a recent afternoon when Nathaniel stole away to retrieve some very important, very secret herbs and essences from the little patch of forest off the palace grounds.

“Neither can I, Sir,” Nathaniel replied, calm as ever. He’d, of course, been responsible for the ‘flu.’ He’d slipped his garden finds into Professor Crenshaw’s tea, and he was  _ not _ sorry. Crenshaw was a terrible bore, and he always told Nathaniel that his essays were ill-informed and meandering.

“Well, I’ve no doubt you’re off to the gardens,” said Wymack. “Why don’t you run along?”

“I’ve been wanting a word with Sir Andrew, actually,” Nathaniel said truthfully. He hadn’t spoken with Andrew since a couple of days prior, and he wanted to ask if Andrew would be willing to accompany him to the gardens later in the day.

“Of course you do,” Wymack replied, his tone suspicious in part, and partly exhausted.

“What’s the meaning of that, Wymack?” Nathaniel asked, feeling irritated by Wymack’s sudden surplus of knowing looks and remarks.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Wymack sighed, rubbing his temple. “Though, Nathaniel, I might forewarn you—Andrew is not a boy to trifle with, no matter one’s rank.”

“I’ve got no intentions of trifling with him,” Nathaniel replied, bemused. “Andrew’s my friend.”

“So I’ve been told,” Wymack hummed under his breath.

Before Nathaniel could think of a smart remark in return to that, however, a familiar flat voice said, “Nathaniel.”

Turning abruptly, Nathaniel’s whole face lit up when he found Andrew standing nearby. “Oh, hello, hi, Andrew,” Nathaniel greeted him, extending a hand for their special greeting. The pair of them slapped palms, and then performed a series of intricate gestures. Nathaniel had insisted they create it upon reading about something along the same lines in one of his novels.

It occurred briefly to Nathaniel that perhaps the two of them were not doing such a fantastic job at hiding their friendship as they thought they were.

“Are you busy in the evening?” Nathaniel asked.

In his peripheral vision, Nathaniel glimpsed Wymack’s eyebrows shooting up, but chose to ignore it in favor of watching Andrew’s reaction to his inquiry.

“Not if looking after my ass of a brother counts as ‘busy’,” Andrew replied, expression apathetic as ever.

“Grand,” Nathaniel grinned. “Then, would you like to come to the garden with me?”

Andrew looked like he was thinking it over.

“I’ll bring the pastries you so love,” Nathaniel added in a singsong tone.

Andrew nodded once; “Deal.”

⋆

Nathaniel had been successful in convincing Wymack to abandon his guards’ duties for the night and allow Nathaniel and Andrew to meet alone in the gardens.

At first, he was suspicious, muttering something about how Nathaniel  _ just had to choose the boy Wymack lived with _ and  _ seventeen and fifteen is much too large a gap at this age anyway _ which Nathaniel didn’t understand. Friends could be all different ages, could they not?

But in the end, Nathaniel had bribed him with pastries (he was beginning to see how Wymack and Andrew got along) and assured him that they would be safe (Andrew had knives and combat skills) and that they would just sit in the thicket and eat sweets.

Now, Nathaniel sat there, waiting. He was in the specific area of the garden in which he and Andrew tended to meet up—the clearing filled with hydrangeas where the two of them had met for the first time, years ago.

In one hand, Nathaniel had a plate of sugary-sweet pastries, in the other, a new book he’d brought for Andrew. While Nathaniel tended to stick to informational novels about flora and fauna, Andrew liked the sort of adventure-y books the young prince’s library was full of.

They tended to be about bracing, bright young lads with a taste for danger, saving the helpless, and witty remarks. Nathaniel thought that was fitting for a boy like Andrew.

It was ten minutes after he and Andrew had agreed to meet, and Nathaniel was starting to get worried. He clutched his copy of  _ On the Sunlit Sea _ close to his tunic and assured himself that Andrew was fine.

He had to be.

Andrew was, of course, a formidable foe. He was endlessly talented in combat, and carried his knives close to his chest.

No one would dare touch Andrew, Nathaniel thought. Not if they wanted to live.

The moonlight panned over the thicket where Nathaniel sat, turning coloring the scene of the garden, normally bright, to something more muted and mysterious.

Nathaniel’s own hands were paler than usual in the dappled haze of silvery glow, tightened around the wrinkled book and gilded plate.

Minutes passed, and still there was no sign of Andrew. Nathaniel grew more worried as the minutes ticked by, and eventually, he stood and left the book and pastries on the grassy floor.

Creeping out of the clearing and into the pathways of the garden, Nathaniel kept an eye out for any hint of movement, or of Andrew’s black attire. In the darkness, though, it was difficult to tell black from blue or green or any color, really.

The moonlight did illuminate Nathaniel’s surroundings, but it also washed everything in silvery gray, turning the garden into a vision of hazy monochrome.

Nathaniel searched for Andrew for over an hour, with no success. He even left the gardens behind, endeavoring to search Andrew’s other haunts around the palace. Eventually, Nathaniel collapsed outside the guards’ quarters.

He wondered if perhaps Andrew had just gotten tired of him. It made sense; after all, Nathaniel was only fifteen. Andrew was seventeen. It would be normal for Andrew to want friends his own age. Friends that could actually go and  _ do _ things, rather than a spoiled prince, forced to stay inside and waste away with guards and tutors to keep him company.

Scowling to himself, Nathaniel rose. If that was the case—if Andrew had ditched Nathaniel simply because he was bored of him—then Nathaniel owed him nothing.

He would not continue to search for Andrew; it was late enough already. Nathaniel ought to retire to bed for the night.

Using the key Wymack had lent him, Nathaniel did his best to sneak soundlessly into the palace. He did have a near-miss that involved almost knocking over an enormous suit of armor, but Nathaniel managed to catch it before disaster truly struck.

Still, it took him another thirty or so minutes to reach his chambers unscathed.

By that time, all Nathaniel wanted to do was sink into bed and  _ not _ think about how Andrew had chosen to skip out on their pre scheduled outing.

Nathaniel reached for the heavy, gilded double doors that led to his chambers, and used Wymack’s rusted key to open them. Slipping inside as quietly as he could, Nathaniel made sure that the only sound he made was the faintest ruffling of the fabric from his tunic and trousers.

When Nathaniel entered the main room of his chambers—there were five distinct rooms, all joined together by this foyer-type area—he noticed that one of the windows was flung wide open.

Moonlight spilled onto the marble floors from behind parted velvet curtains.  _ Strange, _ thought Nathaniel. Strange considering the fact that he’d been sure to close his curtains before leaving, not wanting the evening’s chill to get in.

It wasn’t unusual for the maids and servants to have cleaned, but they tidied up twice a week, and those two occasions had already passed.

A chill scampered up Nathaniel’s spine, but he ignored it as best he could. Instead of closing the curtains, Nathaniel made his way to the door that lead to his bedchamber.

The door was unlocked. That was normal. Nathaniel kept it unlocked because his father tended to like to check up on him, occasionally visit him in the evenings and early mornings. Sometimes to take a knife to Nathaniel’s skin. Sometimes to lecture him on his princely duties.

Turning the knob as quietly as he could, Nathaniel opened his bedchamber’s door.

Someone was seated on the velvet-cushioned rocking-chair in the corner of the room. When Nathaniel looked over, dark eyes met his.

“Hello, Prince Nathaniel. It’s a bit late to have been out and about, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here?” Nathaniel asked. He felt like he’d been gutted. He felt like the air had been knocked out of him. He clutched mindlessly ya something to steady himself, and found the poster of his bed.

“Why, Nathaniel,” said the visitor. “I sent you word of my impending arrival, did I not?”

“Yes, you did, but—” Nathaniel struggled to find the right words. “But I took that to mean you meant to visit in a matter of months. That is, more than three months.”

A cool laugh rang out. “Of course not. I told you that I’d be coming to Baltimore Court  _ soon. _ Would I lie to you, Nathaniel?”

A pause. “No.”

“That’s right,” said the visitor. He reached up and, with a fingertip, nudged the silver cricket atop his spiky black curls. The single ruby inlaid in its center winked in the shimmering moonlight. The circlet was tipped to the side, on an angle that implied debauchery.

“Come, Nathaniel. Sit next to me. You do remember me, do you not? You remember how you and I were the best of friends, once upon a time.”

“Yes,” Nathaniel said. He could not hear his own words. The ringing in his ears was too loud.

“I notice you are not wearing your own circlet,” he said, patting the cushion beside him. Nathaniel stood and walked over to meet him, stiffly, as if he was being controlled like a marionette.

“No,” Nathaniel agreed. “I was just walking about, so I thought it unnecessary.”

“The circlet is always necessary. It is necessary to show the public, at all times, who you are, Nathaniel. Have I not explained this before?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel replied numbly. “I won’t be without it again.”

“That’s right,” the visitor replied. A cold smile spread across his lips. “Tell me, Nathaniel, who were you with on this walk?”

“No one,” Nathaniel said automatically. “I was alone.”

“Now, Nathaniel. You do know not to lie to me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Nathaniel said.

“Good. Then why do you seem to have forgotten? I know everything, Nathaniel. I know about your little friend,” he said. “He’s a bit… short, isn’t he? Blonde? Not what I perceived as your type.”

“He’s not my type,” Nathaniel said. His heartbeat was loud and quick, and he could hear it almost drowning out his own thoughts. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s just my friend.”

“Just your friend?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel assured him. “I promise.”

“Very well. I suppose I can spare him. Now, tell me, Nathaniel. Did you miss me?”

“Yes.” Nathaniel was almost sure his hands were shaking. His eyes couldn’t focus on them enough to check, however. They were fixed on the bottomless black eyes in front of him.

“Very good. I am glad that I’m here now, Nathaniel. After all, where would you be without me? Frolicking about in the moonlight with blonde dwarves?”

Nathaniel swallowed, hard, and pretended that he was anywhere but here.

“Bring me your circlet, Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel did as he was commanded.

Cold hands took the circlet from his, and turned it over. It was silver, too, inlaid with four sapphires. The visitor’s cold fingers brushed Nathaniel’s face when he laid the circlet among his auburn locks. The feeling made Nathaniel shiver.

“Have I ever told you, Nathaniel, that you look good in the color blue?”

Nathaniel shook his head.

He found that words did not come easily to him in the company of Riko Moriyama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! i’m so sorry for not updating for a while, i’ve been a bit busy. um sorry as well for how dark this one got! unfortunately, i can’t say that the next few chapters will be any different.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @minyrds!!

**Author's Note:**

> ok this was like a lil prologue thingy? the rest of the fic’ll be when they’re older.


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